![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
- #event,
- arthur stuart (velvet goldmine),
- aymeric de borel (final fantasy xiv),
- jace herondale (shadowhunters),
- jughead jones (riverdale),
- kenzi malikov (lost girl),
- kurt wagner (xmcu),
- loki (mcu),
- marcus wright (tsfb),
- mikaela hyakuya (sote),
- nico di angelo (chb),
- private joker (full metal jacket),
- rafaello d’este (oc),
- will solace (chb),
- wyatt lawson (oc)
War with D.E.S.T.I.N.Y.
Characters: Ensemble cast, any/all characters of Xistentia!
Summary: D.E.S.T.I.N.Y. comes to Xistentia for the first time, bringing with it violence and havoc. Combat against enemy agents, healing, emergency sanctuary, and "Drift Compatibility" happen here. Refer to the OOC plotting post and the mod announcement!
Date(s): November 4-18
Warnings/Notes: Violence, death, psychological themes, trauma. Please warn for anything else in your subject headers!
Everything is, in short, super fucked. Era Ra's warning came at the right time, forewarning of some of the weapons and fighting styles that could be expected from D.E.S.T.I.N.Y.'s agents, but still, the people of Xistentia have not faced a force like this before. The ragtag combination of fighting styles and tactics promises both versatility and confusion.
For better or worse, D.E.S.T.I.N.Y. is in similar chaos.
The first to come are ships from the Western sea, bearing a mix of warriors in and monsters. Some wield old-fashioned steel swords and others bear laser blasters, and their armor is just as varied. Some creatures appear domesticated, while others are feral and snap at their own. However, one primary feature identifies the enemy: their war color is red, which adorns flags and uniforms. Interestingly, the sea and sky of Xistentia seem to be fighting back in their own way, massive waves and a storm, even animals pestering them as they attempt to land the beach. However, it's only a matter of time before the mainstay of their forces reach land, some two hundred fighters. It's then that sentient fires start to whirl into the forests, leaping from tree to tree. You have the home court advantage. Even the foliage itself seems to cooperate with you, aiding in efforts for stealth by keeping you downwind, twigs failing to crack when you misstep. Soon, you're joined by Xistentia's other forces-- a handful of battered ships taking air, an odd assortment of elves and talking dogs, demons and aliens from outer-space, coordinating counter-attacks.
You're locked in combat with a woman who seems oddly familiar, though you don't know her face and can't think of her name. You hit her in the head, and now a narrow slice of her face shows through her red-rimmed helm. She wields a rifle tipped with a heavy blade, though it crackles with electrical energy. She is a proficient swordswoman, deftly parrying and striking against you, her face eerily expressionless. Her blade has a switch that, when activated, will send out a net that numbs your limbs and drags you to the floor. Here's hoping you won't face this demon alone.
She's not your only problem. You may have noticed, that in every epic battle with evil wizards, there's always some kind of a problematically gigantic elephant. This is one of those days. At least, there's only one, its trunk as wide as a car, its feet moving slow, so that it might crush the trees rather than trip over them.
Fight one or both, or fight the hordes of nameless minions around them. Either way: there's plenty to do. Those of you who thought things were too quiet here? You'll be busy today.
Fighting isn't for you? Well, you'll want to get out of the way, then. The "wards" protecting the city are failing, and people are heading toward The Temple where the protections remain the strongest. Here, the injured need healing in the stone beds. The civilians do their best, comforting children, cooking food, trading intelligence, repairing weapons and armor where possible. Feel free to pitch in; they need all the help they can get.
And here, you've reached the Temple, you've laid yourself down on one of the many glass-and-stone beds within the safety of its stone walls. You know what the other Xistentia residents have told you about it— this is the next phase, after the memory share had raised shields against the psychotropic rain. This is the PsyLink. Through this bond, you are said to be able to activate special defenses. No one seems to know exactly what they are, but desperate times call for desperate measures. And beyond the Temple walls, times are desperate indeed.
Each drift requires at least two people. Your daemons will find and connect you, seemingly at random— and you may find yourself with the unlikeliest of partners.
The Kissing Booth participants find it easiest. Everyone else-- it's a wild jumble, finding yourself caught up in a firehose of not only your own memories, but that of someone else. Everything they think, everything they feel, is intertwined with your mind.
You can't get caught up in it. You have to let the memories of the past, your predictions for the future, and the terror of war flow in and out of you, without neither resistance or pursuit, gently tuning them out. And in this serenity, this psychic silence, this acceptance of not only yourself but the other other, you find perfect connectivity— harmony with your PsyLink partner.
In this space, you find yourself having strange conversations. You and your partner will share ghostly images, some of which seem to be images from the past— while others seem to be present-day moments from the battle outside, fighting the enemy, as if you are somehow in two places at once. You must find traction and stay in the now and stay calm, but it's harder than you think.
The instant you latch onto that memory or emotion, it's a mistake... but you forget.
Your shadow is here. Whether out-of-context, or right here where it was meant to be, it's trying to kill you.
But you're not trapped here alone. Someone is calling your name, a familiar voice in the pandemonium. That voice comes from your drift partner. It's up to them to pull you back, remind you of who you are, and balance you. Hold on to them - they're your anchor, but you'll have to do the same for them. A successful drift means helping each other. Do it well, and you'll help to power the temple's defences. Fail, and there'll be trouble for everyone seeking sanctuary here.
Summary: D.E.S.T.I.N.Y. comes to Xistentia for the first time, bringing with it violence and havoc. Combat against enemy agents, healing, emergency sanctuary, and "Drift Compatibility" happen here. Refer to the OOC plotting post and the mod announcement!
Date(s): November 4-18
Warnings/Notes: Violence, death, psychological themes, trauma. Please warn for anything else in your subject headers!
WAR WITH DESTINY
By headsman's blade or battle-axe
Fight For Your Life
Everything is, in short, super fucked. Era Ra's warning came at the right time, forewarning of some of the weapons and fighting styles that could be expected from D.E.S.T.I.N.Y.'s agents, but still, the people of Xistentia have not faced a force like this before. The ragtag combination of fighting styles and tactics promises both versatility and confusion.
For better or worse, D.E.S.T.I.N.Y. is in similar chaos.
The first to come are ships from the Western sea, bearing a mix of warriors in and monsters. Some wield old-fashioned steel swords and others bear laser blasters, and their armor is just as varied. Some creatures appear domesticated, while others are feral and snap at their own. However, one primary feature identifies the enemy: their war color is red, which adorns flags and uniforms. Interestingly, the sea and sky of Xistentia seem to be fighting back in their own way, massive waves and a storm, even animals pestering them as they attempt to land the beach. However, it's only a matter of time before the mainstay of their forces reach land, some two hundred fighters. It's then that sentient fires start to whirl into the forests, leaping from tree to tree. You have the home court advantage. Even the foliage itself seems to cooperate with you, aiding in efforts for stealth by keeping you downwind, twigs failing to crack when you misstep. Soon, you're joined by Xistentia's other forces-- a handful of battered ships taking air, an odd assortment of elves and talking dogs, demons and aliens from outer-space, coordinating counter-attacks.
BATTLE MODE: ATTACK
You're locked in combat with a woman who seems oddly familiar, though you don't know her face and can't think of her name. You hit her in the head, and now a narrow slice of her face shows through her red-rimmed helm. She wields a rifle tipped with a heavy blade, though it crackles with electrical energy. She is a proficient swordswoman, deftly parrying and striking against you, her face eerily expressionless. Her blade has a switch that, when activated, will send out a net that numbs your limbs and drags you to the floor. Here's hoping you won't face this demon alone.
She's not your only problem. You may have noticed, that in every epic battle with evil wizards, there's always some kind of a problematically gigantic elephant. This is one of those days. At least, there's only one, its trunk as wide as a car, its feet moving slow, so that it might crush the trees rather than trip over them.
Fight one or both, or fight the hordes of nameless minions around them. Either way: there's plenty to do. Those of you who thought things were too quiet here? You'll be busy today.
SEEK SANCTUARY
Fighting isn't for you? Well, you'll want to get out of the way, then. The "wards" protecting the city are failing, and people are heading toward The Temple where the protections remain the strongest. Here, the injured need healing in the stone beds. The civilians do their best, comforting children, cooking food, trading intelligence, repairing weapons and armor where possible. Feel free to pitch in; they need all the help they can get.
BATTLE MODE: SUPPORT (PSYLINK)
And here, you've reached the Temple, you've laid yourself down on one of the many glass-and-stone beds within the safety of its stone walls. You know what the other Xistentia residents have told you about it— this is the next phase, after the memory share had raised shields against the psychotropic rain. This is the PsyLink. Through this bond, you are said to be able to activate special defenses. No one seems to know exactly what they are, but desperate times call for desperate measures. And beyond the Temple walls, times are desperate indeed.
Each drift requires at least two people. Your daemons will find and connect you, seemingly at random— and you may find yourself with the unlikeliest of partners.
Drift Compatible
The Kissing Booth participants find it easiest. Everyone else-- it's a wild jumble, finding yourself caught up in a firehose of not only your own memories, but that of someone else. Everything they think, everything they feel, is intertwined with your mind.
You can't get caught up in it. You have to let the memories of the past, your predictions for the future, and the terror of war flow in and out of you, without neither resistance or pursuit, gently tuning them out. And in this serenity, this psychic silence, this acceptance of not only yourself but the other other, you find perfect connectivity— harmony with your PsyLink partner.
In this space, you find yourself having strange conversations. You and your partner will share ghostly images, some of which seem to be images from the past— while others seem to be present-day moments from the battle outside, fighting the enemy, as if you are somehow in two places at once. You must find traction and stay in the now and stay calm, but it's harder than you think.
The instant you latch onto that memory or emotion, it's a mistake... but you forget.
Your shadow is here. Whether out-of-context, or right here where it was meant to be, it's trying to kill you.
But you're not trapped here alone. Someone is calling your name, a familiar voice in the pandemonium. That voice comes from your drift partner. It's up to them to pull you back, remind you of who you are, and balance you. Hold on to them - they're your anchor, but you'll have to do the same for them. A successful drift means helping each other. Do it well, and you'll help to power the temple's defences. Fail, and there'll be trouble for everyone seeking sanctuary here.
meeeee
different to seeing the substance of somebody's soul peeled back like the flesh off a skinning victim, their surprised flesh and muscle, vessels exposed and squirming to the exam table light. the biological nightmare of the anatomy of someone else's mind. the components are in and of themselves familiar to janus— they've smelled people burning, they've seen swords meet and sparks fly. they've been in the dark and hunted by neon light. they've even been to carnivals. but this is about nothing they've ever done.
this is juno's. janad had told them so.
and out of the dark, the hunter descends. or rather, they ascend, swinging their sword up, lunging to meet the chainmailed woman weapon-first. metal shrieks against metal. they're stronger than they look in reality, and it reverberates into the substance of the psylink— half a ton of strength bursting up to deflect the blade.] And a fine lady, [they tell her, because it didn't seem right not to say something when nightmare words cut juno so.]
youuuu
and he looks, and there's janus with their own sword aloft, looking like some hero straight out of those comics that juno used to thrive off of as a kid, swinging in, possessed of a motion he could only dream of having as his heart pounds furiously in his chest.
between them and between andromeda, juno doens't know where to look. the hulking warrior bears down upon the sword meeting her own, parrying it with a rage and aggression that only a monster could have, grown strong on the self-loathing of her brood. her head whirls around unnaturally fast and sharp at the angle, as if dislodging itself from the very top of her spine. ]
Stay there w̷r̹͖͕͍̪̻̤e̵t̗c͈̤̀h͉̥̝̦͔͍̱e̢d͚͙̠ ̢͉̟b̙̯̪͉͜o̡̤̣̫̪̜̳y̨̥̱̰̟̼. See all the trouble you cause? See?
[ she turns back towards janus, helm bloodied anew from the slats where her eyes ought to be as she aims another strike at them. there's a foul stench in the air, past the scent of flesh and blood--thick, sweet alcohol. ]
Don't waste your time.
no subject
You're but imaginary, [they tell her, biting out the syllables, terse from effort. they parry her strikes.] Your hate isn't yours. Not really.
[is it juno's? is this juno's rage and misery, in costume? they do not entirely understand how this psylink works— and part of them is unwilling to parse such a vile creature as part of juno's experience and interior world. not juno, who'd been kind despite his discomfiture, patient despite that janus' questions had, in retrospect, been rather stupid. what is this nightmare carnival? they deflect blows, keeping focused despite the internal hubbub of their silent questions. they wait for their chance-- saying only a little, in small hope her response might disrupt juno's sense of reality enough to take him from his stupor.
but just small hope. their larger plans are conserved for the next moment. when janus sees their opening, they lunge forward. the leap is powered with combined strength: the kick of their legs, but also the rush of magic, of janus' connection to a harpy far far away-- the ability to fly, that they remember and cherish so well. they swing their knees up, and hit the woman solidly in the chest with the balls of their feet.
and then they reverse mid-air, somersaulting backward. reaching to catch juno by his arm. flying like peter fucking pan, sword in hand. maybe they don't have peter pan on mars, and janus is a rather joyless substitute, grimly dressed in black and absurdly upside-down, but still it's time to ask—] Juno! My friend! Do you know my name?
no subject
juno can taste it all, the sour smell on his tongue, even the self-loathing is palpable enough to choke on if you really hate yourself, and god juno hates himself. he presses his lips together instead and andromeda laughs, one hand to her chest, a figure that might strike courage into the hearts of some looking like a nightmare.
but then there's a force pulling him away from the range of andromeda's blow enough to shake him out of it a little bit. his fingers stretch out and grab what he can despite his contentment to take it - the blade, the berating, the sound of his own voice somewhere inside his mother's hating him, hating himself. there's a blind kind of rage that andromeda swings with, something anew and hungry attempting to catch them, but not being able to with janus springing away. ]
-̞̺͈͇̣́ Ruined e̯̟̤̯̪̠͙v͉e͈̖̙̜r̜̼̦̟͍͢ý̮̥͕̭t͓̙͝h̀i͝n̶̻͓̟͈͕̯͇g̨͕̜͇̣!̭͈̪̺̥͕ I should have killed you too!
[ andromeda shrieks from the distance, and her discordant voice shifts, something familiar, an overlay of a woman's voice and a man's and at once juno looks over, fingers clutching their arm like it's the only thing that matters here and now. that's his voice. he knows it so well because it rattles around enough in his brain, when he talks to himself, telling him the exact same thing. everything you touch you ruin.
but fuck it. he fumbles with his grip against their arm and for a moment everything feels like a blur, like he can barely hear it underwater and he just sees their mouth moving in shapes until it comes through like bursting upwards to an unseen surface. his fingers clutch in some kind of half-aborted movement and the answer to their question comes out, breathless, quick: ]
Can't forget it. [ even just the few times, fumbling awkwardly in the temple over words and even moreso under bright lights and warm music, he can feel it even now alongside every iota of his self conscious, recent memory that feels awash in something good... benign. ] Janus -
[ and hell, just the name alone puts a little bit of ground beneath juno's toes again, and as unsteady as he'd been before now, he can feel a strength gradually coming back to his knees, his heels, and there's a sense of stabilization here, like the grip on janus' arm means something more, like with them there, juno can focus because god if his brain isn't like a house on fire if the house had set itself on fire to begin with.
janus doesn't deserve this shit. ]
I'm sorry - [ he says it before he can eat the words again, and they're dry like sand. ]
no subject
they still aren't far enough away when janus decides that it'll have to be far enough. they know something of psychic traps, of nightmare monsters. of the tortures invented by oneself and hijacked by soul magic. you have to solve the puzzle according to its own rules, and running from these monstrous imposters is only another way of convincing oneself that their power is real. gently as they can, they set juno on the ground, descending in slow degrees so that his toes graze the grass first. then properly setting him down, even as they drop out of the sky themself, like mary fucking poppins. sword instead of umbrella. it's an increasingly popular trope in fiction.
they step close to juno after. keeping their eyes on his face, though it's half an illusion— their peripheral vision is angled just a little past the edge of the other man's scarred face, intent on the being that still rages beyond. coming toward them still.]
We're in a virtual reality, [they tell him.] Trying to fight a war. The program is preying on the cruelest parts of your own mind, I believe. [if they could possibly make this sound more dry and boring they probably would. one of janus' foibles, okay. everything sounds like it belongs in an unillustrated textbook, ten point font, times new roman.] But there are others. [they look into his eyes. wishing it was brighter, so maybe he could see them more clearly.
juno's mind is full of darkness. janus decides not to read too much into it.]
The ones that have kept you alive and moving this long. The ones that have turned-- this, into the urge and ability to help people.
no subject
by the time they both touch down and juno fumbles because what's being pulled into gravity again but being reminded of the sinking feeling in his stomach as he looks into janus' eyes and finds himself at a loss for words. the clarification is... it's good. it's solidifying their place here - they were trying to do some good with this strange tech, trying to fight back. his own eyes glitter in a lopsided sort of way, one far dimmer than the other. ]
I... okay. [ juno takes a breath, believes it - why wouldn't he? it's janus, he's gone alongside people with less merit and the world nureyev echoes in his head painfully. his fingers still grip their arms just a bit, as if he were still floating. ] Don't know about helping people, Janus. I fuck a hell of a lot of stuff up. [ the doubt is palpable - cass kanagawa, alessandra, nureyev, all of them disappointed in him. ben too dead to be disappointed, his mother too angry to do much but hate him, really.
the admission is quiet as he digs his fingers in briefly before letting go. ] A lot of stuff. [ he swallows tightly. yasmin swift, that moment at the precipice of the cart, watching her fall. his teeth tighten against each other, grind. ] People died who shouldn't have. Didn't deserve to. And it was my fault. Not sure if that's helping anyone.
no subject
It is not your fate to be blameless. When you have the responsibility to try and the power to effect change, regret is inevitable.
[janus should never run a greeting card business. there is a terrible kind of peace that comes with their work, understanding its purpose, its raw righteousness, its cosmic evil, its uncertain margins of error. and the necessity of it.]
A perfect world wouldn't need us. It is your terrible privilege, to know that what called you out of the dark was more darkness. But it's still a calling. [they say such stupid things sometimes. but it's that specific sort of cheese and rhetoric that allows them to look into his eyes, unflinching as his fingers bite into their arm. they hold him too. in the distance, metal rings, the monstrous chimes of her voice, the crunch of her footfalls coming closer. janus doesn't know the names that pass through juno's mind, the faces, the guilt, but they can guess.
(it scares them, a little; knowing how it migt be for them, when the tide turns.)]
You regret having tried? Do you think there's a world somewhere out there, that turns, where you didn't?
no subject
[ the sound of andromeda's footsteps come harder and juno feels his shoulders tighten. the thickness of the scent of smoke in the air, the sound of janus' voice between his ears attempting to reason with that hungry, despicable part of him that lurches in rage and self-loathing. it's hard not to think about it, swift's face as she fell, the static and the lightning and thunder all around, the height making his stomach turn.
andromeda no longer speaks so much as wails his name in that amalgomation of voices.
juno looks them in the eye, and it hurts, but there's something to catch onto there with janus, something he can reach out to and dig his heels into. the steadiness in their voice, the way they hold him back even with the impending threat drawing closer and closer, albeit slower and slower. andromeda's voice itself becomes almost lazy, sing-songing all the same and nightmarish, but she pauses more. ]
Janus...
[ his face pinches as he looks down between them, as the panic surges like a roiling sandstorm until it finally reaches a pinnacle and poises itself. ]
To be completely honest with you, [ he whispers, and it's low and dangerous and andromeda seems to hear it at her distance, seems to feel it coming off of him in waves. ] I regret failing. A lot of things and a lot of people. I wanna do good I just... I can't. No matter what the hell I do. It's always worse.
no subject
You can save us now.
[faith, probably. in the kind of person that juno is. and janus can guess that that's what they're doing, because— because their nerves start to scream at them. the creature is attacking! they can hear it, even though they don't turn to look. the massive, lumbering steps from the mechanical monster and her barbaric voice. janus' spine is knotting up with the urge to turn, to confront, to get into a defensive stance. to fight, as they've always fought, with weapons and tactics.
but they've seen enough of magic to know that the pull of this particular trap is that it compels them to believe the steel and earth are real, rather than the trick of juno's wounded soul. their knuckles turn white. they're careful not to grip juno's limbs now, but his clothing.]
You're here with me. Now. And you can save-- me. [it's a profoundly bizarre thing for them to say, to even think about. being the one who needs saving. their skin pulls up into needles, every bone in their body screaming: raise your sword. but janus doesn't, looking juno in the eye, and allowing themself to be. small with him.]